


Particles

by yuletide_archivist



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-18
Updated: 2007-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1638371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The golden monkey was shivering, but Marisa was not afraid.  She would not be kept down any longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Particles

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to astrangerenters for looking over this for me. :)
> 
> Written for Kathryne

 

 

Note: For ease, I used Mrs. Coulter's daemon's name from the radio version, and gave him a voice.

\---------

The lights of Edward Coulter's mansion were twinkling, dazzling even, as the carriage rolled up to the long, curving drive that led to the front door. Inside the carriage, the lights seemed brighter against the inky shadows, blazing beyond the glass panes, and she blinked slightly when the harsh glare got too bright.

"Will the ministers of the Magisterium be present tonight?" Ozymandias muttered, slinking beneath the seat. There were small popping sounds when his claws made sharp contact with the pillowed seat cover.

"Yes," Marisa answered, pulling her gloves over her hands and wiggling her fingers inside. "All were scheduled to attend."

The golden monkey jumped upright onto the seat next to her, licking one paw, but Marisa never took her eyes off of the sparkling lights of the mansion in front of her. Her dress cut into her back, but it was a small sacrifice for the gown she'd managed to borrow from her superior. She could not very well waltz into the Senator's party with tattered rags for clothes. She shifted, rolling one shoulder under the lace shawl, and reached a hand out to open the carriage door. The fare would be steep when she paid the driver.

"Are you ready?" Ozymandias hissed, a warning in the tone.

"Always," she answered, and stepped out the door.

\-------

The din of the crowd hung low around her ears, but she stayed alert, moving swiftly through the throes of people with a gentle smile and a steady, un-hurried pace. She could not yet see any of the Magisterium collect, but she had time, and it was of little consequence so early. Ozymandias stayed close to her feet, weaving in and out of the legs behind her, his golden tail softly tapping against the marbled floor.

When she stopped, pausing by a door, reaching out with a gracious hand to accept the champagne flute offered to her, he scampered up onto the banister behind her and bent low near her ear.

"Down the hall," he whispered, "and to the left."

She began to move immediately, bowing slightly as she let an older, graying man pass in front of her, and she could feel her heartbeat fluttering against the glass in her hand through her palm.

The golden monkey had been correct on the location, and she stepped inside the room without pausing, her eyes on the ceiling as if following the wooden rafters lining the halls. When the room fell into silence around her, she stopped, raising a hand to her mouth.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I am so sorry, I'm afraid I'm quite lost!"

"Quite alright, madam," one of the men said, stepping forward with a quick flick of his official robe. She smiled at him, brightly, and let him take her hand. The dim lighting of the sitting room made the sequins on her dress sparkle, and when her shawl slipped down one shoulder, she did not move it back up. The man kissed her fingers lightly, and his lips were dry and chapped.

"It is an honor to meet you," Marisa said, dipping into a curtsy. "The Senator truly has excellent tastes in his friends."

The man before her smiled, and so did several behind him, and she saw Edward Coulter near the largest chair in the back, shifting his weight. The champagne sloshed against the sides of his glass as he moved, and when his eyes scanned over her, she ducked her head.

"What is your name?" the Magisterium minister still holding her hand asked.

"Marisa," she said, and risked another glance at Mr. Coulter. From beside her, Ozymandias craned his neck, his tail flicking nervously around her ankles. "I am sorry to intrude."

"It is no trouble at all," Edward Coulter said, breaking the silence he held. "I look forward to the next intrusion."

She just smiled, and curtsied again, and when she left the room, Ozymandias unwound himself from his position at her feet.

"He'll expect you at the next, now," he murmured.

"And we shall not disappoint," she replied.

\-------

It was not difficult to gain access to the Magisterium's general collection, though it did take a few extra coins from her purse to get into the furthest stacks, and she sat at one of the tables with the papers spread in front of her, fingers trailing over the small spattering of hand-written notes in the margins. The shorthand was difficult to decipher, so much in absent, unconscious scribbles, but she wrote out all the markings diligently, working until the oil in the naphtha had nearly burned out.

"These," she said to the monkey, "these are from the Old Testament."

"They are making notes on the early books?" Ozymandias asked, jumping up onto the table and clawing slightly at a few of the loose sheets she had already finished with.

"Very early," she answered, setting the pen down. She flipped the paper over, scanning down the back, and then shuffled through another pile. The notes were interesting, but hardly earth-shattering, and she knew it would be next to impossible to get the true implications of the church's research in the public arena. She set the papers down again, feeling as if she had come to yet another wall.

"What now?" the monkey sniffed, disdainfully.

"We pay another visit to Senator Coulter," she said, and packed the papers back into the folders from where she had gotten them.

\-------

"You are here again, my dear," Edward said, coming up behind her and touching her lightly on the elbow. The contact was welcome- she knew him to be pleased with both her dress and her appearance at the party. "I am glad to see you."

"And I you," she said, with a sweet smile, curtsying slightly.

"Have you met the other guests yet?" he asked, and when she shook her head, he extended his arm for her and began to lead her around the room, pointing at the various figures. "There is Otyets Semyon Borisovitch, come far to meet with the king and the Cardinal. Next to him is Father Makepwe."

"Of the Consistorial Court?" Marisa asked, genuinely surprised. "I had not thought they would attend galas of this kind."

"They are, of course, special guests of mine," Edward smiled. The action was almost feral, and Marisa smiled back, keeping her eyes from settling too long on one thing. "As an arm of the Magisterium, they are always welcome here."

"Of course," Marisa purred. She could feel the tension from Ozymandias, who was slinking behind them silently, carefully keeping a watch on Mr. Coulter's daemon, a sleek, dark wolf. The monkey did not seem keen on the wolf, but he curbed his tongue and his claws, his tail the only indication that he was anxious, bobbing slightly with each step he took. "Such powerful officials must be under constant scrutiny."

"Yes, but who we should not talk politics," Edward said, leading her away from the Magisterium collect. "This is a party. Let us talk about something lighter."

"Yes," Marisa replied, resisting the urge to frown. "Of course, to something lighter."

She raised her glass, and was pleased when it reflected in his eyes.

"To something lighter," he repeated.

\------

"Sin," Ozymandias hissed over her shoulder, perched atop the wooden chair. "It is all about sin."

"Original Sin," Marisa murmured in agreement, flipping through the pages. "It is the curse upon us."

"It can't be," the monkey said, slinking across the high-topped back to jump down to the left hand rail. "There has to be a way to avoid it, to keep from knowing it. It can't be such a curse."

"Perhaps that is what they are trying to suppress," she replied, and then, finding nothing more within the worn pages, set the book back wearily on the small end table.

"Or perhaps it is what they should be doing," the monkey pointed out, and she let her eyes flick over to where he was seated. He was not looking at her, grooming his hand with his tiny pink tongue, and she watched for a moment, marveling at the way his fur rippled with each movement, the way the tiny bristles shivered in the breeze. When he finally looked up, sensing her gaze upon him, his face bore a questioning look.

"Perhaps," Marisa repeated, and it sounded as if there were a fly in her head, buzzing around her ears. It drowned out all the thoughts she could not get in order. "Perhaps."

\------

She was not surprised when Edward Coulter called upon her to attend the King's gala with him, and she was considerably more pleased when she was told that several members of the Magisterium would be present at the event. Edward was ever the gentleman, keeping her on his arm as they walked through the crowds with easy, polite greetings.

"You are the most beautiful woman here," he said, near her ear, so close his breath was hot against her neck. She kept still and smiled, ducking her head.

"You flatter me," she said. His fingers touched lightly on the bottom of her chin, pushing her face back upwards.

"I do not," he told her. "Look around you. Everyone else agrees."

He turned from her then, and she let out the breath she had not even realized she had been holding.

"Yes," Ozymandias hissed, just loud enough for her to hear it over the din. "Yes."

They kept moving through the crowds, and the gown felt lighter on her shoulders.

\------

"You are a philosopher?" she asked, when Edward had left the sitting room to make the rounds. The sweet wine in her glass swirled with her hand movements, lapping against the edges.

"Theologian," Lord Asriel replied. "Mathematical."

"I see," she said, and Ozymandias jumped up atop the leather chair. "Such a fascinating subject. Do you have much contact with the Magisterium?"

"I try to avoid it when possible," he answered, and she caught the quick twitch of his right eye. "They do not like my work."

"What is your work?" she asked, moving closer. There was something alluring about the boxes he was pulling out, in the instruments he was carefully setting up. She was not allowed to be part of the meeting, but the others had not arrived yet, and the idea of keeping her beyond the closed doors was maddening. There was something in the man's movements that enticed her. Something easy, and yet maddening.

"Particles," he said simply, after a moment of hesitation. His eyes glanced over her. "Tiny particles and the links they hold within them."

"Links?" she asked, and she did not have to force the curiosity into her tone. The diamond on her finger clanked noisily against the glass when she moved, and she ignored it.

Lord Asriel did not answer right away, and instead pulled out a picture. It was a frozen landscape, a tundra covered in ice and solid snow, lit by streams of color streaking through the clear sky. She narrowed her eyes and leaned in, and then, all of a sudden, saw what he had been referring to. There were tiny reflections of light littering the dark area between the Aurora and the ice. It looked like grains on the photograph itself, and she put her hand forward to trace them across the glossy paper.

"I do not know much about it yet," he told her, and from him, it did not sound like an admission of failure, but instead a quest, a thirst for knowledge. "I am studying to see where the links within the particles fall, and why they react to people."

"React?" Marisa asked, suddenly nervous. There were footsteps in the hallway, signaling the Butler's arrival, and she knew she had to make herself scarce. "I see. I should take my leave of you, I think."

Lord Asriel only nodded, and when she left, she did not know why her heart was beating so fast, or why she could not get the image of the grains out of her mind.

\-----

"There is little here," Ozymandias said, and he sounded disgusted. "The man has no information from the Court in his books."

"There must be something," Marisa said, but she felt the same agitated frustration in her own chest. "He cannot be removed from the Magisterium. He must have something about Sin."

"It would not be here," the monkey shrugged. "Perhaps he does not have access to the documents."

"No," she said. She did not believe it. "No, he must."

She sat down hard in the sitting chair, hands balled into fists in her lap.

"It was not for nothing," she whispered. "It cannot be."

\-------

"I am sorry, ma'am," the guard told her, holding one hand up as if she were a common street urchin begging for scraps. "You are not allowed in."

"But my husband-" she began, and was waved into silence.

"I am sorry," the guard repeated. "I cannot let you inside."

She smiled at him, the expression strained, and left the door, which was flanked by tall pillars of marble and stone. The golden monkey hopped up onto her shoulder, claws digging into the fabric of her coat. She could feel pinpricks on her skin where the bone went through the wool.

"It is of no use," she said, pulling on her leather gloves, which were stiff from cold. "I can find nothing."

"Perhaps that theologian can help," the monkey hissed near her ear.

"Lord Asriel?" she asked, stopping. The monkey scampered down from her shoulder, licking the fur of his paw smartly. He did not seem to mind the cold, but she could feel the sting of it in both of their bodies. "He hates the Magisterium."

"But he knows of particles," Ozymandias said. He did not continue, but walked a few paces in front of her as they continued down the street, and the snow falling held more questions than answers.

\-------

Asriel seemed surprised to see her, knocking at his front door with a graceful ease, her carriage disappearing into the snow behind them.

"And to what do I owe this unexpected surprise?" he asked, opening the door wider to let them both inside. His snow leopard stood alert, poised, and sniffed slightly as they passed her by.

"My husband is quite interested in your work," she said effortlessly, sliding the fur coat from her shoulders. "He is very busy, though, and I thought I might help him by learning more of your research into the particles. Have you made any progress?"

"None yet," he said, and his eyes on her were shrewd, but not distrusting. "Come in, I have things laid out in my study."

She followed him down the hall, her heels clicking against the tiles. The flickering candlelight bathed the corridor in a warm glow, and despite its welcoming nature, she felt a prickle of apprehension down her spine. She dismissed it when he gestured her into his study, papers strewn about in nonsensical piles and instruments lying as if discarded in the middle of use.

"I wish to continue studying this particle phenomenon," he said to her, over his shoulder, as he poured a glass of scotch. "These particles seem to be natural in origin, not man-made, and the strangest thing is that they have a tendency to react to people."

"You mean, they move of their own free will?" Marisa asked, looking over one of the blueprints on the oak desk.

"Somewhat," he told her. "I believe they are attracted to humans, manifesting themselves around us. I cannot figure out what their purpose is, or why this attraction exists."

"Only humans?" she asked. "No other creatures?"

"I do not know," he answered with a curt shake of his head.

"Extraordinary," she breathed, holding up one of his negatives so that the light shone through it, setting the picture aglow. There was a man in it, paying no attention to the camera, and above him, the flash had captured tiny reflective particles. "It looks- amazing."

"The church thinks it is wrong," Asriel said, his voice quiet.

"The way it clusters around him," Marisa said, tilting the picture, "it is almost as if it is drawn to him. You say- you say these particles move on their own in such a manner?"

"Yes," was the answer.

"Then, they are a miracle," she said, unable to take her eyes from the negative. "They are of the heavens."

A hand slammed down on the negative she had been holding, startling her so badly that Ozymandias jumped and howled behind her. Asriel was very close to her, hovering so near that his breath was hot on her cheeks, and she stared at him. Her fingers were trapped beneath his, for she had not let go of the image. There was a tense moment in which she could feel Ozymandias' fur rippling with apprehension.

"You did not come here for your husband," Asriel hissed.

"You go against the Magisterium," she spat. Another moment of silence stretched between them.

"The particles are a threat to the church," he said.

"They look like dust," she replied, and he pulled his hand back, abruptly.

"Yes," he said, one hand on his chin. "They do indeed."

She stared at his turned back, at the creases of his jacket, and waited until he turned around again.

"These particles are not lawful in the heavens," Ozymandias whispered, from his perch on the back of the high wooden chair behind her. "They are sinful."

"Tell me more," she demanded, her voice low. "Teach me about the dust."

For a moment, he seemed to be considering things, his gaze flitting over her like a beetle in flight, and then he nodded.

"Yes," he said.

 


End file.
